Goodbye, Liefie
by fictitiousburn
Summary: This was all too much and she wasn't ready to let go, not yet. Not of him and not of the thin wisp of life she still had left (Anne/Peter)


**goodbye, liefie,** a painful goodbye drabble

Anne's head was bowed over onto her knees as she tried to stay away from all the other germ-infested people on the train.

"Annele?" A deep voice questioned, but there was no doubt to the owner. "What are you doing?" Peter gazed down at her curiously before he settled beside her, his knees propped up and his hands over them. He didn't bow his head like she did, but he watched her with wide, brown eyes. She smiled lightly.

"I don't want to get sick. I want Pim and I don't want to be _here_," she had been holding it in just fine, but stupid Peter had to ask her a stupid question and now there were tears in her eyes. She dipped her head down to wipe at her face in frustration until she felt Peter pulling her into his grip. Her chest tightened as she cried and she felt an unwelcome fluttering in her stomach.

"It's going to be okay, liefie." Anne tried not to stiffen at the affectionate term that had been foreign on his lips. She buried her face into his shoulder and was shocked to find him kissing her temple and holding her for the entire train ride.

She hadn't remembered falling asleep but suddenly her eyes were prying themselves open to adjust to the situation. Peter was stirring beside her in the midst of the commotion. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her head and picked her head up. It was dark and she could only hear people running and filtering off of the train, but that was it...and screaming. Anne heard a lot of screaming. Her eyes were wide and only widened even further when Peter grasped her shoulders firmly. She was startled when she jumped and tears fell down her cheeks.

"Annele!" He called over the noise, "they're separating us!" It took her a long time to register his words, what they meant and the order of them, and the gravity of his statement. She threw herself at him, exclaiming loudly as she landed against his chest. She embraced him tightly until he nudged her, but their arms were still fastened around each other as they leapt from the train and to the ground.

She moved out of his grip and broke out into a run. "Annele!" He shouted, pushing the hands away from him and sprinting after her. He called after her breathlessly but Anne kept running, kept pushing her legs as far as they could take her. She just needed to get away, but her knees locked up painfully. She crashed to the ground hard, her knees catching gravel and mud, and her hands slamming in front of her painfully. She sat back onto her feet and sobbed openly, raising her muddy palms to her face.

She didn't realize when Peter had caught up to her but his arms were around her again, holding her together, whispering to her. He was behind her, pulling her back until she turned and smeared her muddy hands on his clothes, burying her face against him, crying. His hands pulled at her hair gently, smoothing it down and trying to be as comforting. "We should go back," he suggested but she shook her head frantically.

Peter hesitated before he took Anne into his arms. She looped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes, tears still falling slowly. This was all too much and she wasn't ready to let go, not yet. Not of him and not of the thin wisp of life she still had left. By the time Peter got back to the train car, Anne was asleep against his shoulder and it was barren empty, everyone else having been herded away. He was careful when he climbed in, setting Anne inside first before he propped her against a wall and let her rest.

When Anne opened her eyes, Peter was gone. Only an empty train car met her gaze. An empty, _moving_ train car. Her breath caught in her throat painfully as she drew her legs into her chest. Etched into the floor beside her feet, Anne read a message. 'I could not stay, Annele,' Peter's words glinted back up at her, 'Be safe and take care. Goodbye, liefie.' She reached out to skim over the carving, catching her finger and recoiling at the pinprick of blood. Wedged in between the boards was a razor, an all too familiar razor. It had been Peter's. She had given it to him for Hanukkah two years ago.

The first thing she had felt was anger. She banged her head back against the wall, staring at his words and wishing she could set them on fire and erase what he had done just as easily. "We could have been together, Peter," she found herself saying, her hand over her mouth as the words escaped. "Why did you leave? Why does everyone have to leave?" After her anger settled, she started to feel sad. She missed him and his altruism. The way he had helped her and comforted her on the train when she had been scared. She wanted him back and the anger only came back again.

It wasn't until the anger and sadness stopped battling that she allowed a sliver of happiness to steal its way into her heart. He had called her liefie.


End file.
